


The Dark Side of the Moon

by maaaaa



Category: The Sentinel (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:07:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23579659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maaaaa/pseuds/maaaaa
Summary: Originally written and posted to TS Secret Santa on LiveJournal in December 2007.
Relationships: Jim Ellison/Blair Sandburg
Kudos: 23





	The Dark Side of the Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written and posted to TS Secret Santa on LiveJournal in December 2007.

Jim noticed the dark sedan parked on a side street off Prospect a few blocks from the loft, and got a weird vibe in the pit of the stomach. There was something about it that caught his attention and got him to thinking he might have seen it several times earlier in the day.

He took a left at the next corner and circled around the block. He parked the truck on the street running parallel to Prospect and walked to the intersection. Easing his back up against the wall of the corner building, he cautiously stuck his neck out and peered around. He surveyed the area quickly. The street was empty; he zoomed in on the car. There was no one inside it, so he did a quickstep diagonally across the street and came up on it from behind. He took a minute to give it a cop’s once-over, walking around it slowly.

It was a deep dark blue with tinted windows; spit-polish clean and waxed to a low-key sheen. There was a ding in the right front fender that was the giveaway…one of those small details that the sentinel part of his brain took note of and filed away neatly, as Sandburg had taught him. He took a moment to use one of the recall techniques that went along with the lesson and he was able to confirm what he’d suspected. The vehicle had definitely been parked outside Teofilo’s when he’d left there around noon after questioning several witnesses. And he’d seen it in his rearview mirror when he’d made the run over to City Hall with H just after three.

Jim glanced around again quickly before trying the doors. They were all locked, so he opted for a sentinel once-over this time, the tinted glass not an obstacle for his eyesight.

The interior was just as spotless as the outside. A black briefcase sat on the floor behind the driver’s seat. Jim tilted his head a little, to examine it more closely. Just below the handle, on the side facing the seatback, he could make out the top of a circular marking stamped into the leather. It was enough.

“Military,” he breathed out under his breath. “Just great.”

He trotted back to the truck, pulling out his cell as he went.

Sandburg answered on the first ring, sounding cheery. “Hel-looo.”

“Hey Chief,” Jim responded as he made his way toward the alley behind 852. “You still at the campus?”

Blair was walking as he talked; Jim could hear his footsteps and his voice echoed faintly as it bounced off the walls of the corridor he was in. “Yup. I have a meeting at six remember? Oh, hey, I can pick up something not Wonderburger on the way home if you want, unless you ate already. I’ll be home before seven and---.”

Jim interrupted, keeping his tone casual but brief. “Nope, I’m fine. I’ve got a few things to do. I’ll let you know if I change my mind.” And he hung up before Blair could say anything else.

Knowing Blair was safely away from the loft eased Jim’s mind. The memory of Lee Brackett waiting for them inside their own home came to the forefront. Once in the alley, Jim focused his senses on the loft, listening for any indication of an intruder.

Only the sounds of the refrigerator humming and the soft creaks and moans of the building overlaid by the lingering scent of that morning’s breakfast, vanilla candle wax and incense drifted down to him.

Jim slinked along the alley, not ready by a long shot to believe there was no threat. He reached the end of the alley and cautiously stuck out his neck to view the street in front of the loft.

There were a few pedestrians and several bystanders waiting for traffic to clear before jaywalking across the busy street. And one man lingering in front of Colette’s, pacing slowly and glancing up and down the street, most likely watching for Jim’s truck or Sandburg’s car. His dark overcoat and mirrored sunglasses went glove in hand with the sedan two blocks away. A soft leather courier’s satchel was slung over his right shoulder, the bag molded to his side in a seamless fit. Jim scanned the area for any sign of a cohort, and satisfied himself quickly that the guy was alone.

He waited until his quarry was looking the opposite way and came up on him stealthily from behind, sliding his gun out of the holster at the small of his back. As unobtrusively as possible, he grabbed the guy’s upper arm and stuck the barrel of his gun just under his right ear.

“Cascade PD,” he advised as he shoved the guy up against the nearest wall. “Put your hands where I can see them.”

The guy’s hands immediately shot out to his sides and he placed them, palms flat, on the wall.

“You always could get the drop on me, Ellie,” he said with a chuckle, not in the least alarmed.

Bewildered and somewhat taken aback by the voice, Jim spun the guy around. He looked at the man for a few seconds and then his face split into a grin and his eyes glimmered in surprise.

“Swan, you old dog!” he greeted warmly. He holstered his gun and gave Jim Swanson a hearty shake by way of further hello, slapping the side of his neck affectionately. “What’s it been? Six years?”

A few lighthearted swats and punches were exchanged as the two men sized each other up.

“What the hell are you up to?” Jim demanded without any harshness. He waved his hand in the air, fluttering his fingers. “What’s with the surveillance routine?”

“You might’ve noticed I wasn’t exactly trying to be covert? You’d kick my butt if this was all the better you’d taught me,” Swan replied evasively, but smiling nonetheless. He pulled his glasses off and pocketed them. He smoothed his rumpled coat and fiddled with his satchel, clutching the strap tightly in his right hand.

“Right,” Jim answered dryly, drawing the word out. His eyes held a hint of amusement as he used an economical head jerk to encourage Swanson to continue.

“Where can we talk?” Swan asked, his tone serious now as he looked around.

Jim followed his gaze and then said, “This way,” as he steered them away from the loft, heading toward a park a few blocks away.

Old friend or not, Jim Swanson was still military, covert ops the last he knew and still in the thick of it by the look of him, and Jim didn’t want him anywhere near his home or his partner until he knew more about why he’d come looking for him.

And it didn’t escape Jim’s notice that Swan hadn’t suggested they go up.

They talked as they walked, making congenial small talk about old times. The conversation became a bit stilted now that the initial exuberance of being reacquainted was wearing off and the uncertainty of Swan’s purpose in being here hung between them.

When they reached the park, Jim chose a picnic table as far as possible from the playground area and any other civilians he could see. He motioned for Swan to take a seat while he remained standing opposite him, one foot propped up on the bench attached to the table, positioning himself so that he could observe his surroundings without any obstructions.

“Okay, spill,” he ordered shortly.

“First, I’m not your enemy here, Jim,” Swan offered sincerely.

Jim considered that statement, wondering why he’d chosen that opening. He narrowed his eyes and set his jaw. “Let’s just hear it. Give.”

Swan started to say something else, hesitated, and then reconsidered. Instead, he swung his satchel up onto the table. He pulled a file folder part way out of it, far enough to remove a picture from it, which he slid across the table toward Jim.

“Do you know this man? Ever seen him before?” he inquired, looking at Jim, not the picture.

Jim studied it for a moment. The man was facing toward the camera, slightly profiled, but not looking at it. The smile he wore was genially insincere; his gaze was fixed on someone or something out of sight, but close by. Whoever or whatever it was had been cropped out of the shot. He could have been in his mid-forties, maybe a little older, with graying dark brown hair, and brown, baggy eyes.

Jim was shaking his head before he spoke. “No. Uh-huh. Should I?”

Swanson launched into his explanation.

“Thomas Evans. Recruited right out of grad school and slotted straight into the brain trust. He was top of his class in psychological profiling, behavioral conditioning, you know, the head case stuff. He initiated programs to take advantage of what he called natural, inborn, highly refined propensities exhibited in select individuals in an effort to create some sort of super-soldier.”

Hearing about something that hit a little too close to home, sentinel-wise, rattled off in a well-rehearsed spiel, set Jim’s teeth on edge. He bristled internally, but maintained an indifferent outward attitude.

“You’re kidding,” he scoffed, and added with deliberate skepticism, “What sort of propensities?”

“He’d done a butt load of research on the subject,” Swan sidestepped neatly. “Said tribal cultures all over the world, for centuries, had records of people like this. He called them Watchdogs; that’s what his program was code named.”

“Dammit!” Jim snarled, voice low, teeth tightly gritted. “Answer the damn question.”

The look Swanson gave him was piercing, cat out of the bag. “Heightened senses,” he answered flat out. He waited a half second for some sort of reaction from Jim.

The icy stone-cold look that Jim shot at him wasn’t what he’d wanted or anticipated.

“We’ve kept tabs on you,” he continued warily, and seeing Jim tense up he hurried on. “Oh come on, don’t give me that look. You’re one of the best of the best of THE best. Uncle Sam doesn’t give a damn about the ninety-eight percent of grunts who schlep their way through, do their duty, serve their time and then say sayonara. But he does give a damn about the other two percent.”

Swan’s cavalier statement about a soldier’s worth didn’t sit well with Jim, but he chalked it up to him posturing in order to make a point.

“That so?” Jim said, the timber of his voice still rigid, radiating a warning. “Lucky me.”

Swan went on, a little less hesitantly now that Jim was back to verbal, if only marginally. He’d seen enough of Jim in their days together in covert ops to know when he was at his most dangerous, and speaking by way of nothing but menace in his eyes was one of those signs.

“Believe it or not, you’re not the first guy to come off a deep cover mission with haywire senses. In most cases, the hyper stuff went away almost as soon as debriefing took place and the guy returned to civilization. That, or he went completely ‘round the bend. The idea of soldiers with heightened senses was appealing, to a lot of people,” he said pointedly, “but if there was no way to predict when they’d kick in, or how to control them, what good are they? Back in the late seventies, early eighties, Evans nabbed these guys for his program. But he never achieved what he set out to do so they shut down the program. Too much effort and resources expended for too little return. The wacky senses either returned to normal, or his subjects went loony toons.” Swan paused for a moment, drawing a deep breath and then added sharply, “No matter what he did to them.”

“Jesus,” Jim growled. He straightened up and then slapped his hands down on the table hard, making Swan jump. “What the hell does all this, and him,” he picked up Evans’ picture and flung it at his old army buddy, “got to do with me?”

Each man’s body language spoke for him; they both knew exactly what it had to do with Jim Ellison.

Swanson stuffed the picture back into the folder before saying anything.

“The plug had been pulled on Evans’ program by the time you came off your mission in Peru. That doesn’t mean he, or the brass, didn’t take notice. But your senses went back to normal. You got on with your life.”

“But they kept tabs on me.”

“The brass stamped you ‘case closed’, it was SOP after that, look in on you every now and then, make sure you were keeping your nose clean, not selling out to the other side, yadda, yadda,” Swan ticked off in a clipped monotone. He looked at Jim with deep affection written in his eyes. “I kept tabs on you Jim,” he clarified in a tight voice, emphasizing the ‘I’.

Jim’s posture relaxed and his featured softened a fraction. “Why?’ he asked simply.

“For all the times you had my back, all the times you saved my ass, for that night in Manila,” Swan answered with a shrug and a shy smile.

The expression on his face swept six years away in an instant, and it took Jim back to that night when they both thought it might be their last on the planet. Holding Swan in his arms, soothing away both their trembles, had saved them both.

“Shit Swan,” Jim rasped with tenderness that left Swan fidgeting, and in turn gave Jim an uneasy feeling about what was coming next.

A moment later another photo was on the table, being pushed toward him.

It was the same photo of Evans, only uncropped. Jim didn’t reach for it, or draw it closer for a better look. He recognized the other man in the picture, as Swanson had known he would. Swanson, who’d kept tabs on him, who was watching his back.

The other man in the picture was Blair.

Swanson cleared his throat and held onto the photo with two fingertips to keep it from being taken by the breeze wafting through the park from the bay.

“Evans bugged out about six months ago. He took a lot of classified intel with him, including all his Watchdog theories and case files, and the scuttlebutt is he’s looking to go freelance.”

Jim started pacing back and forth, prowling steadily closer to Swanson as he let possible ramifications of that sink in, and not liking what was being implied about Sandburg being with Evans. When he reached Swan’s side, he laid a hand on his shoulder and gave it an encouraging squeeze.

“Get on with it,” he directed in a cool, straightforward voice.

Swan pulled the photo back over and let it rest in front of them. He tapped it with a finger as he spoke.

“That photo was taken yesterday. And before you ask, I was tailing Sandburg, not Evans, but when he showed up, I sure took notice. Christ, Ellie, don’t you guys run background checks on your observers?” he detoured, sounding exasperated. Before Jim could object, he added, “I don’t mean the kindergarten cop malarkey that passes for a check in copland.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jim demanded defensively.

“He associates with known subversives, for starters. Naomi Sandburg’s arrest record for civil disorder---,”

“She’s his mother for cryin’ out loud. He wasn’t more than four or five during the last of her card carrying protest days---,”

“And he’s traveled to hot spots all over the globe, straying from State Department approved travel guidelines---,”

“He’s an anthropologist and all the expeditions he’s been on have been fully sanctioned. Cut the crap and spit out what you’re getting at.”

“All right,” Swan said in a subdued voice, needlessly tapping the photo again, indicating Blair. “You’re a Sentinel, as he calls it.” No doubt at all now about which cat was out of which bag. “And he’s a poor grad student who just happens to be living with you and he’s seen meeting with a known traitor who just happens to be looking for new guinea pigs, not to mention probably wanting to get his hands on someone who seems to know how to do what he couldn’t. What do you think it looks like?”

Swan studied Jim, who was tight lipped and watching him closely with narrowed eyes. He got up, leaving the picture to skitter a few inches across the table before grabbing it and thrusting it at Jim, who snatched it reflexively and crumpled it in his fist.

“There hasn’t been anything in any of my reports about your senses, or Sandburg. Not that it makes much difference at this point, after your run-in with Brackett, it’s not really a secret, at least not in certain circles. Evans would have had clearance to see those reports. Hell, I don’t know, he might’ve even been in on the interrogation after Brackett was brought in.”

Jim let both surprise and a little shock show on his face as he exploded vehemently.

“They think Sandburg is working with Evans? That he’s some sort of traitor too? That he’d sell me out?”

“They don’t think anything Jim. I told you, I’m not your enemy. I haven’t given those pictures to anyone.” Swan nodded toward the folder sticking out of the satchel, letting Jim know the picture he held wasn’t the only one. “And I don’t think it, for what it’s worth,” he said with heavy emphasis on the I once again, “But I did, maybe, for a while. I had to at least consider the possibility. That’s why I followed you today. I needed to be sure about Sandburg, that he hadn’t set you up.”

He pulled all the pictures out and shuffled them until he found the one he wanted, and then he showed it to Jim.

“Look, something’s changing hands. I can’t tell what it is or who’s on the receiving end. Hell, to be honest I didn’t want to believe Sandburg would do anything to jeopardize you. I like the kid. He’s good for you, in more ways than one,” he tacked on grudgingly.

Jim rolled his eyes, daring Swanson to have the nerve to clarify that statement. Swan just arched his eyebrows and didn’t seem in the least disconcerted.

“It’s still a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ man’s army, Ellie,” he proffered glibly. “But we both know I don’t have to ask. And there’s no way I’m gonna tell.”

“Smart ass,” Jim retorted with fondness in his voice. He looked off across the park, chewing on the inside of his cheek, as well as everything Swan had told him. After a long two minutes, he looked at Swan again. “What now?”

“The last I heard Evans was supposedly in Western Europe, so imagine my surprise when he showed up here. No one’s looking for him here in the Northwest. Not yet. But---,” Swan trailed off.

“You know he’s here, so you have to report it, yeah, or go after him yourself and bring him in,” Jim finished for him. “You want to use Sandburg as bait, but keep him out of the big picture, for my sake, is that it?”

Jim Swanson sighed, and then chuckled a little, shaking his head. “Geez, Ellie, he’s already on the hook.”

There’d been no attempt at deception in anything Swan had told him, Jim was sure of that as both a sentinel and a friend. He set his jaw and nodded slowly.

“Okay,” Jim said resignedly, nodding his head. “I’ll talk to Blair. Tonight. Find out what went down. There’s no way he wouldn’t’ve told me if Evans had so much as hinted about anything having to do with heightened senses. And since my senses are out in the open here, I use them if and when needed. Understood?”

It was Swanson’s turn to stare off into space for a minute. When he looked at Jim again, he nodded in agreement.

“We’re on the dark side of the moon here Jim,” he stated soberly.

“Damn,” Jim answered just as soberly, the one word expressing his understanding. “Can I keep this?” He held up the picture he still held fisted in his hand.

Swanson pulled the folder out of the case completely and handed it to Jim. “Sure, take them all. They’re not going in the family album.”

The sky was dimming to gray and the streetlamps in the park began to flicker on. They arranged to meet back at the park first thing in the morning. Then Jim suggested they head back to Swanson’s car. He took them on a different route, one that avoided going past the loft. They walked silently for a couple blocks.

“He’s cute,” Swan finally said, glancing sidelong at Jim. “Wouldn’t’ve pegged him as your type though. What with the long hair, earrings and what is that look he’s going for? Grunge? Retro-hippie? What?”

Jim snorted noncommittally, but the corners of his mouth twitched.

“I’ve code named him The Mouth,” Swan went on in response to Jim’s amusement. “And not because of the way he can talk. And man can he talk!” Swanson guffawed. “Naw, it’s the other stuff I imagine him doing with that mouth---,”

They reached the car at that point and Jim cut him off by landing a swift clip to the back of his head.

“Ow, hey, okay, okay, sorry,” Swan whined as he fended Jim off with a forearm and rubbed his crown.

Then Jim got serious. “You’re sticking your neck out here. I appreciate it, but I don’t want to be owing you for this,” he said, giving Swan a meaningful look.

“You won’t owe me a thing,” Swan replied. “In fact, it’s me repaying you.”

Jim frowned. “For what?” he asked, perplexed, as he recalled earlier comments made about him saving Swan’s life. He’d never felt he’d done anything more than any soldier would do for one of his comrades.

Swan’s laugh was warm and appreciative as he answered with waggling eyebrows.

“For the pounding you gave me that night in Manila. I’ll never forget it Ellie. Christ, I can even still feel it sometimes.”

Jim laughed too, and smiled. He wrapped an arm around Jim Swanson’s neck, and knowing they were alone on the street, tugged him close and kissed his cheek.

He waited for Swan to drive off before he walked back to where he’d left his truck. He sat behind the wheel for a while, holding the folder. He finally opened it and pulled out the other pictures. There were only six, all taken at the same time and place by the look of the clothes and the angle of the sun. Blair and Evans were outside, on the campus at Rainier near the Hargrove Hall parking lot. Blair was half-smiling at Evans, politely disinterested in whatever they were discussing, looking antsy to be on his way. Jim took another good look at Evans…the threat to his guide, and then shoved the pictures back into the folder and set the folder on the seat. He started the engine and drove around the block and back onto Prospect. He pulled in to an open parking spot in front of the loft. Blair’s car was parked a few spaces down. He rubbed his hands down over his face, scrubbing at his eyes and wanting nothing more than to put off having the upcoming conversation with Blair.

And decided he would do just that, at least for a few hours.

~*~*~

Jim entered the loft and went straight to the kitchen. He flipped the folder with the photos onto the dining table as he passed. He rummaged in the refrigerator, removed a bottle of juice and took a few swigs.

Blair was sitting on the loveseat, slouched low in what looked to Jim to be a most uncomfortable position. One that would leave him stiff and sore if it’d been him. It took concentrated effort to resist the urge to order Blair to sit up straight.

He walked back to the front door, stripped off his jacket, and hung it on the nearest hook, all the while watching Blair, knowing he was aware of his entrance, if only on a peripheral level.

A moment later Blair looked up at Jim, a soft smile curving his lips, looking over the top of his glasses through half-opened eyes as he tore them away from the book in his lap.

“Hey Jim,” he slurred in a low voice. “Just get in?”

“Hey,” Jim answered. He walked to the couch and ran a hand over Blair’s shoulder in greeting, up under his hair and gripped his neck. He leaned down and placed a kiss lightly on the top of Blair’s head.

“You hungry?” Blair asked, sounding only half interested in Jim’s reply. He’d already returned his attention to reading.

“Nah,” Jim replied as he trotted up the steps. He puttered around upstairs distractedly, emptying his pockets and removing his holster. He shucked his clothes and changed into nothing but a pair of sweatpants that hung low on his hips and clung snugly to his buttocks.

All the while he kept Blair in sight, glancing over the railing, watching him. A deep-seated feeling of possessiveness and protectiveness washed over him, along with a deeper emotion he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, identify.

When he loped back down the stairs he announced to the room, “I’m taking a shower,” and waited just behind the couch.

It took a few minutes for Blair to become aware of his presence. And when he did, he shifted his ass ever so slightly, giving the impression of giving heed to Jim while continuing to read.

“Uh-huh, um what?” he murmured.

Jim crossed his arms and sucked the inside of his left cheek into his mouth where he caressed it with his tongue.

The movement was enough to make Blair twist in his seat. He grabbed the back of the couch and leveraged himself up onto one bent leg. He gave Jim a quizzical look that quickly turned into an appreciative leer.

“By the time I get out of the shower I expect you to be up on our bed,” Jim requested in a tone that made it anything but a request. “Naked.”

Blair flung his head down onto the arm he’d splayed on the couch back and groaned.

“Jim, I’ve got to finish this chapter,” he whined pathetically.

“I know for a fact you’re capable of reading in the buff,” Jim answered unsympathetically as he headed toward the bathroom.

Jim pretended to take no notice of the sound of the book being slapped down on the table and papers fluttering through the air as he continued walking. As he closed the door he heard Blair scurrying up the stairs.

He tracked Blair by his half-hearted mutterings for a bit as he fumbled around upstairs, and then let the sounds drift off as he stepped under the hot spray. The steamy moisture enveloped him and the memory of a muggy night in Manila seeped into his brain. He dropped his forehead against the cool tiles and let the water sluice down his back, shaking the memory away. He willed his thoughts to turn to Blair, an easy transition that left his balls aching and his cock stirring.

It was early yet; there was plenty of time before he’d have to talk to Blair about Swanson and Evans. Time to fuck, and make love, and hold him in his arms as if there was nothing else at all in the world but the two of them.

After toweling off, Jim donned the old sweat pants again. They were cozy, soft and familiar and one of Blair’s favorite ways to see him dressed.

He toured the loft quickly, turning off lights, straightening the mess Blair had left on the coffee table and floor in the living area, and locking up…busying himself for a bit longer to let the rest of the residual tension from the meeting with Swan fade, and to allow Blair time to finish his reading.

Then he jogged up the stairs, got to the top of the steps, and stopped short. Even expecting it, the sight of Blair in his bed sometimes just stole his breath.

Blair was sitting cross-legged on the bed, buck naked, sideways to Jim, facing away from the railing. He’d pulled the comforter back, and from the looks of it, kicked it into a heap at the end of the bed. One leg was idly jiggling, and the very top of his butt crack peeked out from the crumpled sheets he’d nested in. The book he’d been reading downstairs was open on his lap, it’s spine cradled between his legs. He was bent over the book; his hair was shoved behind his ears but a few loose tendrils hung alongside his cheeks. His glasses had slipped halfway down his nose and he was crinkling it abstractedly every few seconds in an attempt to wriggle them upward. He fingered the edge of the page he was about to turn with his right hand, and with his left he was idly picking at one of his toenails. Any other time that particular little habit would have gotten him booted off the bed.

Jim advanced slowly, not wanting to distract Blair until he was ready to be distracted. It would have been pointless anyway; everything about his posture suggested he was totally absorbed in the text. Jim remained silent as he retrieved a few items from a small wooden trunk in the corner of the room. He tossed the items, one by one, onto the corner of the bed. As they hit, each jostled the bed lightly. Jim watched for any sign of Blair taking notice, but he didn’t. Jim smiled at that. Then he leaned against the wall near the top of the steps and contented himself with just watching Blair read.

When at last Blair finished, he closed the book and leaned forward, to drop it on the floor, giving Jim a lovely view. Jim tilted his head in order to fully appreciate it and smacked his lips quietly. Then Blair lifted his arms over his head, lacing his fingers, and stretched. Each vertebra crackled and popped to the accompaniment of satisfied groans. After that, he gave Jim his full attention, completely ignoring…perhaps intentionally…what had been tossed on the bed.

Jim reached the side of the bed in two long strides. “Come ‘ere,” he invited, crooking a finger.

Blair scrambled to his knees and hobbled over to Jim, stopping at the edge when Jim held up one hand to halt him. He went for his glasses, to take them off and set them on the nightstand, but Jim captured his wrist and guided his hand down to his side, and then pushed the glasses up Blair’s nose gently and straightened them as he said, “Leave ‘em on Teach.”

A cheeky grin lit Blair’s face and traveled to his eyes. He bounced up and down expectantly on the mattress.

Jim laid his hand on Blair’s chest and rubbed his thumb slowly over the pierced nipple.

The bouncing ceased and Blair closed his eyes, swaying forward. The grin fell away and was replaced by a concentrated grimace. He tipped his head back and breathed slowly, in and out, in and out, as Jim’s hand roamed across the expanse of his heaving chest and up to his throat where his thumb followed the ridges and contours of the stretched skin and bobbing Adams’ apple.

“Shhhhh,” Jim cautioned as his fingertips slid along the underside of Blair’s jaw, up and over his chin, and brushed his lips.

A low sound that might have been a curse, or might have been a plea, gurgled deep in Blair’s throat.

Jim cupped Blair’s face with both hands then, a strong but gentle hold, and kissed Blair as his fingers inched toward his ears. One hand just held Blair’s face, and the other’s fingertips toyed with the hoops in Blair’s ear and ghosted over the earlobe, up along the soft edges of cartilage and into the warm hollow of the ear canal, stroking back and forth, in and out, continuously.

And then Jim’s lips left Blair’s and dragged over his cheek, kissing, nibbling and tickling until his lips were next to Blair’s ear and the fingers that had been teasing his ear slipped around to cup the base of his skull, where they started massaging lazily.

Blair might’ve uttered “guh” or something equally incoherent at that point. His eyes stayed closed and his hands fumbled clumsily until they met with Jim’s solid hips, and he slid his fingers under the waistband of the sweatpants and steadied himself.

Jim whispered Blair’s name, drawing it out into three syllables. The ‘B’ a solid puff of warm breath, the ‘l’ slithered along the roof of Jim’s mouth and over the back of his teeth languidly sliding out on the tip of Jim’s tongue to lick Blair’s earlobe, the ‘air’ in a desperate rush, rolling and trilling the ‘r’. At the same time, Jim’s other hand dropped between them and took hold of Blair’s cock. He fisted it firmly, needing only to pump it twice in unison with saying Blair’s name.

Blair shivered and he dug his fingertips into Jim’s flesh as he came. His eyes popped open, his vision blurred, and he blinked rapidly a few times. He hissed in a lungful of air sharply between clenched teeth, teetering on the edge of the bed as he shuddered through his orgasm. And then he leaned fully against Jim, his chest bumping against Jim’s. He laid his forehead alongside Jim’s collarbone, and then turned his head and nudged it under Jim’s chin.

Jim caught him as he fell, not letting him slide off the bed, the hand at the base of his skull cradling it firmly until he was secure, then slipping out from under the mass of curls to stroke and pet Blair’s hair and cheek with the back of his fingers. His other arm wrapped around Blair, hugging him close in a tight embrace.

“Holy shit, Jim,” Blair whispered. “How the hell do you do that?”

Jim rested his cheek against the top of Blair’s head and started running his hand up and down Blair’s back and over his ass gently, rocking them both at the same time. He answered with a smug smile that Blair couldn’t see.

“Lay down, Chief,” he directed as he helped ease Blair down onto the bed. “I’m gonna get out of these,” he indicated his sweats, which were now painted with Blair’s spunk. “And I’m gonna grab a washcloth to get you cleaned up. Want anything from downstairs?”

Blair flopped onto his side when Jim let go of him and curled into a question mark. “Nope, I’m good,” he answered. “Maybe some water?”

“You got it. Don’t move,” Jim ordered as he disappeared down the steps.

Blair wormed contentedly, not intending to go anywhere. And then he finally got a look at what Jim had tossed on the bed earlier. He wriggled in anticipation and simpered as he realized Jim was just getting started.

In the bathroom, Jim hummed a Santana tune as he shimmied out of his sweats and stuffed them in the hamper. He ran a washcloth under hot water and used it to clean himself up, then wetted another one, wrung it out, and snagged a couple towels. He detoured into the kitchen to fetch two water bottles from the fridge and grabbed the folder from the table.

Blair was still on his side when Jim got back upstairs, but he’d removed his glasses and set them on the nightstand. He was holding up one of the items from the corner of the bed, letting it dangle from his hand. He gave Jim an amused, quizzical look.

“A gag?”

Jim shook his head, not answering. He tossed the folder on the nightstand, and set the water bottles down. He threw the towels on the bed, and used the washcloth expeditiously on Blair’s cock, groin, and stomach. Then he climbed onto the bed with one of the water bottles. He twisted the cap off and handed it to Blair, then crawled over him, spooned up behind him, and began stroking his flank.

Blair took a few gulps and then handed the bottle to Jim, who took a few sips, replaced the cap tightly and tossed it off to the side.

Blair squiggled onto his back and looked up at Jim. “What’s up? What’s in the folder?”

Not surprised it hadn’t escaped Blair’s notice, Jim answered the questions in reverse order.

“None of your business. I’ll explain later. Give it here.”

Blair’s eyes widened, but he handed the gag over.

Jim patted Blair’s rump and motioned for him to flip around so his head faced the railing.

“God, I hate it when you go all grunts and pointy commands,” Blair moaned as he complied.

“No you don’t,” Jim contradicted. He crawled back over Blair and knelt next to him on the bed, dropping the gag. He smoothed curls and wisps of hair off Blair’s forehead and face, leaned down, and kissed him. Then he bent sideways, and picked up one of the other items. His cock brushed Blair’s side as he stretched and the muscles of his back, abs and pecs rippled and flexed with the movement.

Blair groaned and ran his hand along Jim’s thigh, hoping for, and then getting, a jerk from Jim’s cock.

“Stop that,” Jim warned, and Blair snatched his hand away. “Hands up,” he commanded next as he showed Blair the sheepskin lined leather wrist cuffs he held up.

Knowing where Jim wanted his hands, and why, Blair threw his arms up over his head so his hands touched the railing.

“What about you?” he asked with a puzzled look as Jim fastened the cuffs to his wrists, then to the railing.

“Too tight?” Jim asked and when Blair shook his head in the negative, he answered with a sure smile, “We’ll get to me.”

He leaned over and kissed Blair again, this time deeply, their tongues wrestling. When they came up for air, Jim picked up the gag. “Open up.”

Blair’s lips parted slowly, pouting as much as complying. His eyelids drooped to half-mast and his heartbeat began to race as Jim put the ball in his mouth and gently slipped the straps around behind his head and fastened them.

Jim waited a few moments, holding his palm, warm and comforting, against Blair’s cheek, crooning softly until Blair settled.

“Okay?” he asked as he looked into Blair’s eyes.

Blair nodded, but his hands gripped the railing tightly.

At first, Jim’s plan had been to straddle Blair, sixty-nine, but he changed his mind when he decided he’d sooner see Blair’s face as he sucked him off rather than hear the whimpers and feel the frustration vibrating underneath him that the sight of his ass, cock and balls being literally in Blair face, and him not being able to reciprocate, would cause.

Jim slid his fingertips along Blair’s ribcage, hip, and thigh as he moved down the bed.

Blair tracked Jim’s movements with his eyes, fighting to remain still. His skin pimpled with gooseflesh and he inhaled deeply through his nose, in short jerky breaths.

Jim pushed Blair’s legs apart and knelt between them. He ran his hands over Blair’s stomach and down across his abdomen in lazy strokes, swirling his fingertips in the soft hair. Blair bucked under him, and Jim just pushed him down gently, his hands firm against his upper thighs, his thumbs teasing and rubbing the creases at his groin.

Blair’s cock tightened and filled, leaking pre-cum. Jim touched it then, jolting Blair so that he strained upward. Jim kissed the head, and licked the slit and blew across it, then trailed his tongue down the length, kissing and nibbling the balls when he reached them. He nosed the sac, and then sniffed it, and continued sniffing as he meandered back up the pulsing length.

When he was at the tip again, Jim looked up at Blair, and their eyes locked. Jim watched Blair watching him as he took Blair’s cock in his mouth and drew it in.

Blair started rocking and Jim didn’t hinder his movements; there was no need. They were perfectly in synch. He moaned and mumbled around the gag. Jim could guess what he was saying, and smirked as he sucked.

Jim increased the suction, and the pace. Blair’s eyes were glassy and his face flushed, his nipples stood taut and hard, and Jim thought for a moment he might reach up and tweak one, and then he gave in to the impulse and Blair nearly shot straight up off the bed.

When he felt Blair’s orgasm building, and his balls drawing up and squeezing tight, Jim released his cock with an audible slurp and finished him off with several hard, brisk strokes, using a towel to catch the spunk. He collapsed half-on, half-off Blair then, and laid his cheek on Blair’s chest with a contented sigh, petting Blair through the last shuddering of his spent orgasm.

They lay for a while, Jim warm and solid against Blair, until Blair finally grew restless and started wriggling.

“All right, Chief,” Jim said with a chuckle as he pulled himself up.

He unfastened the gag and laughed as Blair’s tongue propelled the ball out and into his open palm.

“Ptooey,” Blair spat as he licked his lips and worked his jaw. “You are soooo lucky that you didn’t sixty-nine with that thing in my mouth, Ellison,” he scolded. “Don’t think I don’t know that’s what you were planning.”

“Who, me?’ Jim replied innocently as he undid the cuffs from the rail. He pulled Blair’s arms down, stood a few pillows up against the railing, and scooted to sit with his back against them, maneuvering Blair’s head and upper body onto his lap. He took Blair’s hands in his and began rubbing his wrists, but didn’t remove the cuffs.

Blair was still making gagging noises and smacking his lips, so Jim retrieved the other water bottle and offered it to him. Blair took a mouthful and swished the water around the inside of his mouth. He held the water in, his cheeks puffing out, and elbowed Jim. Taking the hint, Jim picked up the towel, and finding a clear area, held it so Blair could spit the water into it. He balled the towel up and set it on the floor.

“That was attractive,” he quipped as he stole the bottle from Blair and took a few swallows.

Blair snuggled in close, worming next to Jim so there was nothing but skin between them, and threw an arm across Jim’s stomach, none too gently, eliciting a satisfying ‘oomf’ from Jim, and said, “Tough.”

Jim enveloped Blair in his arms, letting them rest lightly on Blair’s toasty-warm, slick skin. They both closed their eyes and dozed in non-sleep until Jim’s cock started to twitch insistently.

“You’re lucky I’m young and full of piss and vinegar and that I love you so much I can’t see straight most of the time and I can hardly express myself, or else that boner you’re finally sporting would be shit outta luck”, Blair blurted in one long breath, ending with a snorted chuckle huffed onto Jim’s chest with enough effort to send ripples of air down into his navel.

Jim laughed so hard he jostled Blair’s head right off his chest. Then he pushed him the rest of the way off and let him slide onto the bed as he scootched out from under him.  
“On your knees, please, and put your hands behind your back,” Jim said in response, the please earning him a bemused look.

Blair rolled onto his stomach and then up onto his knees. He looked over his shoulder to see what Jim was doing as he put his hands at the small of his back and clasped them.

Jim was on his knees, moving around on the bed. He got behind Blair, clipped the cuffs together and tugged, silently asking Blair if they were too tight.

“’S okay,” Blair confirmed as he eased his arms toward his right side and looked down, testing the cuffs by tugging them a little.

Jim gathered up all the pillows and set them in front of Blair, positioning and re-positioning them until they seemed to be where he wanted. And then he draped the remaining towel over the stack.

All the while Blair kept bugging him about what was coming next with a constant litany of ‘why’re you doing that?’, ‘you want me to bend over?’, ‘tell me what you want me to do’, until Jim squeezed one of his ass cheeks, giving it a good pinch, and threatened to use the gag again.

“Okay, all right, sheesh,” Blair surrendered and then let out a startled yip as Jim bent him over the pillows, leaving his ass high and his face smashed into the mattress.

He quickly turned his head and shook it while blowing puffs of air out of his mouth to try to clear hair out of his eyes and nostrils.

“Thanks a lot,” he bitched, but Jim was there within seconds, smoothing the hair away and gathering it into a band that he must have gotten from the nightstand drawer. He helped Blair get situated so that there wasn’t too much strain on his back or neck.

Blair wiggled his hands, enjoying the feel of the leather on the small of his back, and feeling god-awful aroused by the position he was in.

Jim was being wickedly quiet, and Blair wondered what he was up to as he moved around behind him, out of his line of sight. He kept his mouth shut though, even when Jim fastened wide metal cuffs around his ankles. He bit back a comment as Jim pushed his legs apart, exposing him further, and he dug his knees into the mattress to keep from toppling off balance. Then he heard a clicking noise as something was attached to first one ankle cuff, then the other, and his legs were forced a little further apart. And then it finally dawned on him that Jim was using a spreader bar. It must’ve been hidden in the folds of the sheets, because he hadn’t noticed it earlier.

“When did you get that?” he asked with curiosity. He tried to move his legs, testing the bar, but they weren’t going anywhere. He couldn’t believe how aroused he was feeling and he blushed as he felt his cock spring to life.

“Never you mind,” Jim answered, patting his ass, going about whatever else he was doing, which included reaching under Blair and adjusting his cock and balls, tugging them gently. “How’re the ankle cuffs?”

“Fine,” was all Blair could think to say, his mind starting to turn to jelly with the feel of Jim’s hands on him sending shivers of anticipation up his spine.

Jim sat back on his haunches and just admired the view for a few minutes, but his cock was getting impatient, and he wasn’t sure how long Blair would be able to hold the position without getting too uncomfortable to find it pleasurable, so he grabbed one of the two last items from the corner of the bed, a tube of lube.

He removed the cap and dribbled the lube at the top of Blair’s butt, letting it run down the crack toward his anus before catching it with a fingertip. He played with Blair’s asshole, tracing the lube around the outside and sliding his finger down toward his balls.

Blair hissed and moaned and made all sorts of other incoherent, delicious to Jim’s ears noises as he clenched and unclenched his ass cheeks and puckered his hole, inviting, then demanding that Jim get on with it.

Jim’s finger slid in, quick and stealthy, and then out again. He used more lube, and then repeated the whole maddening process several times, until Blair was writhing and begging.

“Come on, come on, come on,” he pleaded.

The last item was a condom, which Jim snatched up quickly and tore open, the ripping noise setting Blair’s ass to clenching again. He rolled it onto his cock, which he then positioned at Blair’s entrance, stilling Blair’s motions by placing his hands on the sides of his buttocks.

“I’m going to give you a pounding you’ll feel years from now,” he rasped, as he leaned forward and pushed his cock in.

He plunged in hard and fast and began an intensely ruthless pace; pulling back to the brink and then thrusting back in over and over.

With his legs held apart firmly by the bar, Blair wasn’t able to do much in the way of repositioning himself to urge Jim on. His hands twisted manically and his fingers flailed within the bonds, clutching at the air, or fluttering against his own skin, seeking Jim’s hands, which were maddeningly just beyond his reach. He bit his lip to keep from crying out, or just crying from the sheer frustration of not being able to touch anything but his own ass.

Jim stilled the frantic movements by moving one of his hands off Blair’s ass and settling it over the joined wrists, interlocking his fingers with Blair’s, never missing a beat as he continued to pound into him.

Jim started breathing fiercely, dragging in lungful after lungful of air through his nose and mouth. His leg muscles tensed, shaking a little, as his balls tightened and the tempo built until he felt Blair weaken under him as he orgasmed for the third time. Warm, sticky come spurted between them and coaxed Jim to his completion.

A short while later, once again cocooned in Jim’s arms, Blair lazily came around. A corner of his mind remembered Jim gently removing the ankle cuffs and wrist restraints and cleaning everything up without his help, but he didn’t really care.

“Mmmmmm, that was nice,” he murmured. His head rested on Jim’s chest, his torso and legs were spooned into Jim’s curves, and he was tracing curlicue patterns on Jim’s chest with his right forefinger.

Jim agreed with a “Mmmmmm” of his own as his hand glided up and down Blair’s arm soothingly.

About a half hour later Blair risked spoiling the mood. He propped himself up on his elbow and gave Jim his best no-nonsense, I know something’s up, look.

“Are you going to tell me what’s in the folder now and what brought all this on?” he asked cautiously.

No point beating around the bush, Jim thought. He didn’t really want to examine the reasons behind his frenetic sexcapades at the moment, especially not with more pressing matters to deal with, so he reached over and picked up the folder instead.

“If you promise to listen to everything first, and not freak out,” Jim bargained, holding the folder in the air.

Blair’s stomach flip-flopped at hearing Jim’s terms and the tone in which they were given, but he agreed. He nodded his head solemnly and sat up, pretzeling his legs once again. His face screwed up, wincing as his butt hit the mattress.

“Tender?” Jim asked. “Need me to check?”

“Yeah,” Blair hissed. “A little, but in a good way,” he added gamely. “I’ll let you know in a few years.”

That statement, spoken lightheartedly, echoed something Swan had said earlier, making Jim cringe inwardly, and decide he definitely did not want to give Blair a chance to pick apart why he’d felt the need to play dom tonight. He could feel himself blush and quickly diverted Blair’s attention by dropping the folder in his lap.

The diversionary tactic worked. Blair’s head dropped, his eyes following the folder. He pulled out the top picture and his brows furrowed. He continued through them one by one and by the time he looked up again, totally puzzled, Jim had regained his composure.

“I’ll tell you where I got those pictures, and why, but first I need you to tell me who that man is and what you were doing with him,” Jim instructed bluntly.

“Um, okay,” Blair started haltingly, keeping his side of the bargain. “He came up to me yesterday morning in the parking lot by Hargrove Hall. He introduced himself as Professor George Hoffman, said he was at Rainier for a lecture series and was interested in meeting privately with me to discuss some articles of mine he’d read, and suggested we go for coffee.”

“What articles?” Jim interrupted.

Blair shrugged, looking a bit worried. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask. Didn’t give him a chance to explain. I was on my way to meet you at the station, so I kinda rushed him and took off.”

Jim thought that probably threw Evans for a loop; he must’ve been counting on Blair going with him, flattered at being singled out by a professor showing interest in something he’d written. Not knowing Blair’s ego didn’t work that way had left him sideswiped by the Sandburg Express.

“Did he say if he’d be in touch again?” Jim probed. “Or when?”

“He looked kinda panicky, which seems odd now that I think about it. He scribbled something on a piece of paper and shoved it at me through the window right before I backed out. Jim, what’s up, man?” Blair asked, looking a little panicky himself.

Jim glommed on to the vital piece of information. “Where’s that paper?”

“In my backpack. Tell me what’s going on,” Blair demanded shortly.

Jim patted Blair’s nearest knee and then caressed it soothingly. “Okay, sorry, calm down,” he said. “Let’s get back to not freaking out, okay?”

He waited for Blair to take a few deep breaths, and when he nodded compliantly, Jim recounted his run in with Swanson, leaving out only the personal details of their past.

Blair got steadily paler over the course of the explanation. He threw the pictures down and launched himself off the bed before Jim could stop him. He started pacing nervously, chewing his bottom lip as he went over everything in his mind.

“Oh man, oh man, shit, man, Jim, what’re we gonna do?” Blair asked shakily, looking a little green around the gills.

Jim patted the bed next to him, urging Blair to rejoin him, but Blair waved him off irritably, opting to pace a little longer.

“We’re meeting Swan in the morning, we’ll come up with something,” Jim cajoled. He patted the bed a little more forcefully. “It’ll be all right.”

Blair sucked in some air and then blew it out slowly. He crawled onto the bed back into Jim’s embrace.

“How do you know that?” he asked in a rocky voice. He squirmed restlessly, wondering how he’d ever sleep.

Jim kissed the top of his head and drew him in tight against his solid warmth.

“Because I say so,” he answered with conviction, not allowing any other option.

Blair slept peacefully after that assurance.  
~*~*~  
Jim insisted on stopping off for coffee and sweet rolls to take with them to the park in the morning. Blair objected at first, insisting he was too wound up to eat anything, but the coffee’s aroma soon got the better of him and by the time they arrived at the park he was gratefully sipping at the hot brew.

Swanson was waiting for them when they arrived. Jim parked the truck next to his car. He tossed the bakery bag to him, handed him a cup, and then leaned against the hood of the truck. Blair got out, and stood off to the side while Jim made cursory introductions.

Blair liked Jim Swanson immediately, and could see right off why Jim did too. And it had only taken a little bit longer to see why Jim trusted him, even with the sentinel stuff, which in turn bolstered Blair’s trust. And the fact that he could get away with calling Jim Ellie was definitely a point in his favor.

They went over the preliminaries from the day before, leaving Blair uneasy for a bit when Swan blatantly spelled out what his suspicions about Blair had been. He apologized immediately, though, and gave Blair a look that backed up his words.

Then Blair took his turn to recount his meeting with Evans.

“So what do we do now?” he asked after summing up.

“I say we give Mr. Evans a call,” Jim answered calmly. He reached into his jacket and withdrew a piece of paper from an inside pocket. He handed it to Swanson, and then pointed at it. “He gave that to Blair.”

Blair made a grab for the paper, upset with himself that he’d forgotten about it, and hadn’t even looked at it much less thought to bring it along. He shot a pissed off look at Jim, directing his annoyance toward him.

Swan held it up and away as if teasing a kid brother. And Jim batted his hand down gently.

“You’re going to be pissed at me because you forgot about it?” Jim reprimanded, holding Blair’s forearm, arching one eyebrow and barely suppressing a grin.

Blair tugged his arm away and answered peevishly, “No.” He hemmed and hawed and then added, “Sorry.” His curiosity overcame anything else he was feeling and he asked, “So? What’s next?”

Swanson watched the interplay with interest.

“How do you want to play this?” Jim asked, deferring to Swanson.

“I don’t see a lot of options. My main worry was that Blair was in cahoots with Evans, and you,” Swan nodded at Jim, “were up for grabs. And if he wasn’t then I didn’t want there to be any chance he’d get dragged in. My superiors work more along the lines of a shoot first ask questions later mentality.” He shrugged at Blair, and then, seeing Blair blanch added, “I didn’t mean that literally. Just that they’d haul you in for interrogation and you might end up old and gray before they cut you loose.”

“Not helping,” Blair quipped, still looking rattled.

“I’m glad I was wrong on both counts,” Swan said sincerely.

“You said you’re on the dark side of the moon,” Jim reminded Swan, unnecessarily by the look he got in return.

“Dark side of the moon?” Blair asked in confusion, letting them both know he was miffed at suddenly feeling lost.

“It’s a code our unit used. When we, or one of us, were on a mission out of contact with base, maybe just plain acting on our own.” Jim gave Blair a nonrepentant look. “Dark side of the moon, three days, no questions asked, to get done what needs doing, after that if communication isn’t reestablished someone comes looking, you have a lot of explaining to do, or you’re hung out to dry,” Jim explained.

“I’m due to come back into the sun tomorrow,” Swan said. “I can get away with not reporting in until then, even this. But tomorrow?”

“You’ll have to tell them you spotted Evans,” Blair finished for him, the light dawning. “I mean you don’t have to, have to, but you have to because who knows what else he’ll do? Or who else he might go after? And you can’t risk that or risk your superiors finding out you knew he was here and you didn’t---,”

“Come up for air, Chief,” Jim advised. He latched onto Blair’s neck and gave it a squeeze. Then he looked at Swan. “So, we go with plan A, and let my little guppy here wiggle his tail, and reel the big bad fish in.”

Swanson and Blair gave each other incredulous looks and groaned.

“Let’s leave the analogies to the pros, whaddaya say Ellie?” Swanson cracked. “But yeah, okay, with your senses and the guppy,” the word was snorted, “on the hook, I think we’re good to go.”

Blair commented indignantly, giving Jim a sour look, “Who you calling little?”

Jim pulled his cell phone from another pocket and waggled it at Blair while nodding at Swanson to give Blair the paper.

“Call him,” he instructed.

“What! No way! What’ll I say, I---,” Blair sputtered as he flung a wide-eyed look at Jim, one hand in his hair, the other flapping in the air.

Jim rolled his eyes at Blair in a way that was comforting, not mocking. “Just tell him you’re sorry about the other day, you’re interested in talking to him, set up a time to meet, blah, blah. I’ll be listening. I’ll coach you. And don’t forget,” he added, “He’s Professor Hoffman to you.”

Blair bit his lip and then steeled himself with a deep breath and a last glance at Jim as he took the phone and dialed.

Evans picked up on the third ring, answering warily. “Yes?”

“Professor Hoffman?” Blair ventured in what he hoped was a steady voice, his eyes on Jim.

Evans responded, still wary. “Yes.”

Jim rotated his hand, his forefinger extended, mouthing ‘go on’.

“It’s Blair Sandburg. We spoke briefly the day before yesterday? I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to talk longer. I was in a hurry. If you’d still like to meet?” Blair started strongly before petering out.

Jim concentrated on what he could hear in the background from wherever Evans was. There was no muffling of a covered receiver, no hushed conversation with anyone else; nothing to indicate anyone was with him.

Evans cleared his throat and blustered, “Yes, of course. Of course I’d still like to meet. I was at the campus yesterday, but you weren’t in your office. Perhaps you could find time to come to my hotel?”

Blair looked to Jim, held the phone away from his ear, and shrugged his shoulders and hands up in the air as he mouthed, ‘what do I do?’

“Set something up,” Jim whispered, jabbing his finger at the phone.

Looking unsure, but trusting Jim, Blair put the phone back to his ear and answered, “Sure Professor, I’m free this morning. Just tell me where---,” He cradled the phone in the crook of his neck, snapped his fingers at Jim and mimed writing motions.

Jim and Swanson both hastily pulled out notepads. Swan just held his, uselessly, as Jim listened to the information Evans gave Blair and took it down.

“As soon as I can get there, yeah, bye,” Blair answered in response to Evans’ question about a meeting time and Jim’s prompting to make it as soon as possible. He closed the phone with a sigh of relief.

“I think he’s on his own,” Jim mused out loud. “At least there was no one else with him.”

“Let’s go then,” Swan said, springing to life. “We’ll take both vehicles. I want to get him away from you as quickly as possible, but if it all goes south, I want you to be able to get out fast.” At Jim’s nod, he continued. “I’ll follow you Jim, you know where this place is?” He indicated the address Jim had written down. “Blair can wait here.”

“What? No, no way,” Blair disagreed. “I’m coming.” He got ready to elaborate, but Jim beat him to it.

“He’s with me,” Jim said in an authoritative tone. “I might need his help with my senses.” The look he gave Swanson clearly said it wasn’t up for debate.

Blair rounded the front of the truck and hopped in murmuring a victorious, “Yes!”

“All right,” Swanson yielded. “But he stays in the truck.”

Jim just laughed and said, “Right.”

~*~*~

The address Evans gave was a motel near the airport, nothing fancy, the kind where all the rooms had doors facing an outside courtyard.

They parked two blocks away and after a quick initial surveillance it was Jim who ended up relegating Blair to the truck to wait impatiently while the other two moved closer on foot for a more extensive reconnaissance.

The room number Evans supplied was near the street entrance to the courtyard. Jim made several sweeps of the area with his senses, looking for anything to indicate Evans had accomplices. Not hearing or seeing anything suspicious, he turned his hearing to inside the room. Evans was alone, pacing and fidgeting from the sound of it.

Jim told Swan he wanted to wait a just a little longer, to be sure no unwanted guests showed up.

He used the time to focus in on Blair’s heartbeat and disgruntled mutterings to ground himself and tamp his senses down to a moderate level after the workout he’d just given them.

“What’s funny?” Swan asked, seeing Jim shake his head and chuckle, and not for the first time since they’d planted their butts across from the hotel.

“Blair. He’s not a happy camper. Never is when I make him wait in the truck. He’s threatening to do all sorts of things to me if I don’t fetch him pretty soon and let him know what’s going on.”

“You’re really that good?” Swan asked in amazement. “I mean, eavesdropping inside the hotel room is impressive enough and it’s just over there. Blair is two blocks away.”

“Not for long,” Jim growled, suddenly turning irritable. “The little shit’s on his way.”

Blair barreled his way toward them, dividing his attention between the motel and trying to spot where the two Jims had taken cover. As he came even with where they were hunkered down, Jim reached out and dragged him in.

Holding on to the front of Blair’s jacket in a tight fist, Jim lit into him. “You really don’t want me to say Swan was right and we should’ve left you behind, do you?”

“You said ten minutes and it’s been fifteen,” Blair countered, ignoring Jim’s gruffness as he tried to twist out of Jim’s hold. “I thought you might need help.”

“When I need your help, I’ll let you know, that’s how it works in case you’ve forgotten Darwin.” Jim retorted hotly.

“No, how it works is I need to know what’s going on, and keep an eye on you in case you zone,” Blair carped right back.

“You two are something else,” Swan jumped in, filing the word zone away to ask about later. “I should let Evans have the two of you, it’d serve him right.”

Blair stopped struggling against Jim, who was still latched onto his jacket, and they both turned to Swanson with dopey looks.

“Shall we, gentlemen?” he asked, waving a hand toward the motel.

Jim let go of Blair but gave him a ‘stay put and zip it’ look.

Swan took charge. “Here’s the plan. Jim’s satisfied that Evans is alone, right? So since everyone insisted, against my better judgment, that Blair come along, then he should go ahead, alone, and once he’s inside and has Evans’ attention, we follow, burst in and take him. No fuss, no muss.”

And for all the drama and anxiety of the past twenty-four hours, it went down just that easily.

Blair knocked. Evans let him in. Evans didn’t waste any time with idle chat, and launched right in to his Watchdog theory and how he wanted Blair to join him. He didn’t even get a chance to finish his pitch, make any offers or bully Blair with empty threats. And Jim didn’t even have to kick the door in; Evans had left it slightly ajar, so he and Swan just waltzed in, guns drawn, and ordered him to give himself up.

Blair looked more stunned than Evans, who just folded like a lawn chair in a stiff breeze.

“That’s it?” Blair asked, almost sounding disappointed.

“Which one?” Evans asked wearily, directing the question to Blair, but looking at Jim and Swan. “Which one is your Watchdog?”

“Woof,” Jim responded dryly.

Swanson cuffed Evans and pushed him into a chair.

“Well, that’s it, guys,” he said to Jim and Blair. “It’s been fun, but you two better clear out now. I can take it from here.”

“But, but, he, won’t he---,” Blair stuttered.

“What’s he gonna say that we don’t already know?” Swanson answered somberly, glancing sidelong at Evans with a pitiful look. “Professor Hoffman here showed up while I was conducting a routine check on one of our former key operatives, who at one time exhibited Watchdog tendencies, but since then has only had one documented relapse. He tried to approach Detective Ellison’s colleague with his absurd notion that Mr. Sandburg has some sort of magic touch when it comes to these alleged Watchdogs of his. But no contact was made.”

“You think that’ll fly?” Jim asked.

“It’s his word against mine, who’d you believe?” Swanson said with a flourish and a disarming smile. “It’s not like there’s anything to substantiate his story if he decides to contradict mine. Isn’t that right, Professor?”

Jim and Blair both knew Swan was referring, for their benefit, to the pictures now in their sole possession, and that with Evans’ background he didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of anyone believing anything he’d have to say.

The threat was mild, but real, and it wasn’t lost on Evans.

“Whatever you say,” Evans conceded in defeat. “But I was right, wasn’t I?’ he directed to Blair with a hint of defiance and a slightly pleading tone. “They can be controlled, can’t they? Them and their senses; they can be molded into superior soldiers; it can be done, can’t it? You’ve figured it out.”

Blair felt sad for the man, that he’d gotten it so wrong. That he thought Sentinels had to be brow beaten into defending and protecting, when it was what they did by nature, and by choice.

“No,” Blair answered. “You weren’t right about anything.” He left the room and didn’t look back.

Jim joined him in the truck a few minutes later and they drove off.

“Swan gave me the negatives, and suggested we destroy everything,” he said after a few minutes of silence. “Not that I needed him to tell me that. And before you say it, he never intended not to give them to me. He just wasn’t going to hand them over until he was sure about everything, you know?”

Blair shrugged.

“He said he’d be in touch,” Jim added. He looked at his watch and said, “I’m going to check in with Simon. I called him while you were in the shower to let him know I’d be running late today.”

When Blair didn’t say anything, Jim went on, needing to fill the silence.

“I told him I was following up some leads from yesterday, that it might take a while. He complained a little, not really convinced I was being up front with him, but then he gave his usual ‘if it’s about the sentinel stuff, I don’t wanna know’ comeback and let it be.”

Blair stared out the window. “I’m sorry I didn’t stick around to say good-bye.”

“Don’t be, he understood,” Jim replied, knowing Blair was referring to Swanson.

“You’re not gonna tell me what went on between the two of you, are you? Back when you were soldiers together,” Blair suckered punched.

Jim sighed and watched the road. There were times he really didn’t like, or miss, his past as a soldier.

“I can,” he replied pensively after a bit, more to himself than Blair it seemed. And then, more assuredly, “I will, if you need to hear it.”

Blair faced Jim and slid across the seat, right up next to him. He rested his head on Jim’s shoulder, hiding the twinkle in his eyes. He placed his hand on Jim’s chest, feeling the steady drumming of his heart.

“Nah, I don’t,” he answered, and then said sagely, “Some things should stay on the dark side of the moon.” Then he elbowed Jim in the ribs. “As long as those memories get you into the mood you were in last night? And it’s my name you say when you’re babbling incoherently, salivating with desire, and dribbling---,”

“Hey, hey,” Jim protested. “I never dribble. And salivate? Maybe, in your dreams, Chief.”

“Are you gonna tell me where you got that spreader bar? And what other gizmos you have in that chest?” Blair spun Jim in another direction so fast he almost got whiplash.

“That chest is still off limits to you, mister,” Jim cautioned. He tugged a lock of Blair’s hair and then patted his ass in a decidedly dictatorial manner.

They continued bantering lovingly all the way back to Prospect.

~*~*~

Jim Swanson got hold of them about a week later, to assure them all was well. He mentioned something about them both still needing someone to keep an eye out for them, and that it was a lousy assignment, but he’d tough it out.

Jim spoke of Swan every once in a while, in bits and pieces, seemingly at random. He’d tell Blair, within limits, about some of the antics they’d pulled, places they’d seen, and things they’d done, always skirting anything too intense or too personal.

They didn’t hear from him again for quite some time after that, at least Blair didn’t. He supposed Jim maybe did now and then, and that Swan didn’t stand a chance of covertly keeping tabs on them ever again. Still, it made him feel good that Jim had someone watching his back in a way he couldn’t.

And then one day, near Christmas, a postcard arrived. Jim brought in the mail that day, read the card and grinned, and then set it aside until Blair got home. And that night, when he had Blair tied to the bed, he showed him the card. It was a lewd picture of a debauched and disreputable looking Santa saying something in Spanish wildly inappropriate to the season and doing something to an elf that was even more inappropriate. Handwritten across the Santa was ‘Jim’ and across the elf ‘Blair’.

It was postmarked the Philippines and read:

“Having a great time in Manila. Wish you were here. Miss me? Love, Swan.”

And as he watched Jim don a Santa hat, Blair realized he was trussed up exactly like the elf on the card.


End file.
